


With Friends Like These

by Eressë (eresse21)



Series: Greenleaf and Imladris [2]
Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Gen, M/M, Pre-Canon, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-20
Updated: 2014-01-20
Packaged: 2018-01-09 09:26:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,412
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1144324
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eresse21/pseuds/Eress%C3%AB
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Legolas’s first visit to Rivendell proves educational in more ways than one when he learns of the choice of the Peredhil then stumbles upon a tryst with an unexpected twist. Second story in a series chronicling the millennia spanning relationship of Legolas and Elrohir from the moment they meet beneath the eaves of Greenwood the Great to the years of the War of the Ring and beyond.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> _The characters belong to the wizard of storytelling himself, JRR Tolkien and/or his estate. No offense is intended or profit made in my use of them._

Imladris, _Viressë-Yavannië_ T.A. 250  
Legolas felt his breath hitch when he caught the aromatic scents of pine and heather just as he came to the very brink of the ridge that descended abruptly into a vale alike to so many others and yet was not. Following the narrow path, he urged his horse down the steep slope, allowing the beast to gingerly pick its way along the loosely pebbled track. Behind him, his friends, Mithrael and Heledir, were heard to mutter curses as they, too, turned their steeds onto the seeming treacherous trail. The half dozen Elf-warriors in their wake quickly followed suit.

The Elven prince grinned. His friends had never yet left the bounds of Greenwood, not even to visit the human cities and settlements nearby. As such, they’d seldom had need to trek along such paths of dubious safety. That it had taken several weeks travel to get to their destination did little to improve their already low opinion of such distant journeying.

It was more than three weeks since they’d left Eryn Galen’s borders behind. Nearly a week on horseback to reach the eastern base of the Misty Mountains, another week or so to get over the range and finally the last leg across the plains upon leaving the mountains behind. In truth, this part of the trip had taken the most time as they sought the secret paths that would lead them to their objective. 

He heard Heledir grumble about the confounded inaccessibility of so fabled a destination. His grin broadened. 

Yes, the way into the narrow valley did seem unreasonably difficult to access not to mention locate. But then, Rivendell had been founded as a refuge not a kingdom and no refuge worth its name would leave itself so open to the evils of the world without. He gently reminded his friend of this fact, educing sage agreement from scholarly Mithrael who nevertheless decried the inconvenience of such rigorous endeavors to inexperienced travelers such as himself.

On the verge of making a retort, Legolas suddenly stiffened before a beatific smile broke upon his sculpted lips. The faint strains of music, of fair elvish voices lifted in song, wafted up from the vale, beguiling and welcoming. And then he felt it: the awesome power that sheltered the haven. Vilya, the ring of Air, had found its long home in this valley, held by Elrond Half-elven to whom it had been bequeathed by Gil-galad, the last High King of the Noldor. Few knew that the Peredhel wielded this greatest of the elven-rings of power wrought by Celebrimbor. Indeed, that Legolas knew this at all was due to the trust put in him by Elrond’s sons, Elladan and Elrohir.

It was nigh sixteen years since the twins and their parents first journeyed to the Woodland Realm of Eryn Galen, the forest more commonly known as Greenwood the Great. Though long promised this chance to visit Rivendell in turn, the youngest son of King Thranduil had been unable to do so. 

Held back by duty and responsibilities, he’d first had to complete his most basic training as prince, politician and warrior, a course the twins themselves had urged upon him just before they departed from the forest realm. Happily, they’d kept their word that they would return to the woodland kingdom should Legolas not be able to claim his promised reward soonest. Elladan and Elrohir made three visits to Eryn Galen in the years that followed and their great friendship with the Elf-prince had deepened accordingly. Now, it was his turn and he felt his heart race as they neared the bottom of the cleft. 

The pine trees had long given way to oak and beech and a few scattered willows and it was warmer as well, pleasantly so. The singing was louder now as was the sound of fast running water. He had a moment to recall the stream that was a tributary of the Bruinen close to the Last Homely House that the twins had spoken of at their last meeting before the music abruptly stopped and his party was suddenly surrounded by warrior Elves bearing the colors of Imladris. Where they had come from he had no idea; they’d been as stealthy as his father’s woodland rangers. Considering the sparser cover in this place, he had to admire their skill.

One of them stepped forward to address the Elf-prince; Legolas recognized him at once. It was Enedrion, the warrior who, with Glorfindel’s second-in-command, Daurin, always accompanied the twins on their sojourns in the green wood. 

“My lord,” Enedrion intoned, bowing slightly before him. “We have been awaiting your arrival these many days.”

Legolas smiled and nodded in acknowledgement. “‘Tis not so simple a matter to find the way here,” he said. “We were delayed somewhat by a lack of certain direction.”

“Meaning you got lost,” a familiar voice commented.

Legolas glanced to his left, a brilliant smile lighting up his face. Without further ado, he swung off his horse, almost directly into Elrohir’s welcoming embrace. A moment later, he was clasping hands with a grinning Elladan as well. 

Exchanging jovial greetings, they near forgot the prince’s companions until Elladan espied Legolas’ two childhood friends who had dismounted as well. 

“Mithrael! Heledir!” he cried and strode to them. “How fare you?”

Though rendered shy by the strangeness of their environs, both Elves hearkened to his warm manner and replied in kind. Elrohir further eased their diffidence as he kindly inquired as to their folk.

“But where is Sirgon?” he suddenly queried after a cursory look at the woodland warriors. “Why did he not come with you?”

“Alas, our friend is no longer of Eryn Galen,” Legolas explained ruefully. “His mother pined for the Golden Wood and would have faded had Counsellor Beldoron not removed her and Sirgon to Lórien. They have been three years gone from Greenwood now.”

“A pity,” the younger twin remarked. “It must have been difficult for him, leaving all that he knows behind. Mayhap Elladan and I will be of comfort to him when next we visit our grandparents’ realm.”

“But enough melancholic talk,” Elladan said, noting the others’ sudden pensiveness. “Come, _Adar_ and _Naneth_ ”—Father and Mother—“await you. And Arwen as well.”

“I have long desired to meet your infant sister,” Legolas said with a smile.

“Not quite an infant any longer,” Elladan replied. “She is a mettlesome creature for all her tender years. _Adar_ claims she is too alike to us in character and prays Imladris will withstand the attentions of yet another Peredhel child.” 

Chuckling, they walked the rest of the way to the Last Homely House east of the Sea.

oOoOoOo

Six weeks into his stay, Legolas found himself wishing that he did not have to return to Eryn Galen. At least, not within the foreseeable future. It wasn’t that he desired to forsake his family; never that. But life in Rivendell was so different, so utterly enchanting, that he longed for his visit to go on indefinitely. Open spaces, warm breezes and heather carpeted hills beckoned each morning from his windows when he awakened, a far cry from the closed, sometimes stuffy feeling of Greenwood. Not that he couldn’t endure the forest that was his home. He loved Eryn Galen with all his being and would willingly suffer for its continued well-being. It was simply that he appreciated the very differentness of Rivendell from his forest abode.

There were so many attractions that enthralled him both within and without the Last Homely House. The crystalline waterfall cascading down the sides of the sheer drop by the river; a perfect place for bathing, picnicking or napping. Evenings in the Hall of Fire, by turns merry with poetry, music and laughter, quiet with conversation and contemplation or tense with mind-sharpening games of Strategy, Realms and Enigma. Sprawling forests with wide paths and open grassy plains within easy reach that allowed for swift, exhilarating rides on horseback. Challenging bouts of archery, wrestling, swordplay or knife work in the wide exercise yard beside the house with nary a tree to hinder one’s way. And most wondrous of all for an Elf who lived in the thick wood of Eryn Galen: the sun and moon dappling the entire valley with their light since no dense canopy shut out the former’s golden radiance and the latter’s silvery glow. 

The refuge also had a character so unlike the Woodland Realm’s primal personality. It was steeped in culture and learning; was as deliberate as Eryn Galen was mercurial. And nearly every Elven inhabitant was Noldorin; like Glorfindel, Rivendell’s noble captain, these were amongst the last of the exiles who had returned to Middle-earth in the Elder days. 

A few, such as Elrond himself, his lady wife and children, the haven’s chief steward, Erestor, and some of the warriors and retainers, were either of mixed elven heritage or wholly sprung from the Sindar. But these were Sindar who had long resided in Lindon when Gil-galad still reigned or dwelt in Eregion under the lordship of Celebrimbor ere it was overrun by Sauron’s hordes. They were far removed from the Grey-elven nobles of Greenwood’s court. Only Thranduil himself could be deemed their equal in lore and nobility.

The other members of the household had also endeared themselves to the woodland prince with their kindness and care. Aside from Glorfindel and Erestor and Elrond’s other counsellors, there was witty Lindir, housemaster, tutor and minstrel nonpareil; straightforward Iörwen, the Last Homely House’s formidable mistress of the kitchen and store-rooms and maker of the most delicious pastries ever to grace an elvish feast; merry Gildor, the son of Inglor, who oft traveled about the northern lands with wandering companies of Elves, bringing news from without to the hidden vale; and beauteous Almáriel who had taken care of the twins in their infancies and was now nurse to little Arwen. 

Arwen was a delight and a revelation. The tiny Elf-maid, now a precocious nine-year-old, had all the promise of the great beauty of Elrond’s foremother, Lúthien of Doriath, and all the spunk and spirit of her brothers. She was a veritable whirlwind despite her tender years, refusing to allow her age or size to hobble her in the pursuit of childish pleasure and adventure. No wonder Elrond questioned the ability of Rivendell to last the age. 

These were, for the most part, the folk of Imladris though Legolas had been astounded to see, on one occasion, men walking the halls of the house and, on another, two dour Dwarves. The Dwarves, he soon learned, hailed from Khazad-dûm, the great dwarven realm beneath the Misty Mountains. Every so often a few of its citizens would come to Rivendell bearing precious wares of gold and _mithril_ ; Elrond did not shun trade with the _Khazâd_. 

The men, however, were _Edain_ from the North-kingdom of Arnor now ruled by Valandil, the only surviving son of Isildur who had paid the ultimate price for his ensnarement by the One Ring in the disaster of the Gladden Fields, taking his three older sons down into the darkness with him. Through the convoluted lines of Peredhil descent, the king was actually Elrond’s distant kin, a nephew several times removed, one might say, through Elros, the loremaster’s twin, who had loved a mortal woman and thus joined his heart and fate to hers many generations of men ago.

Dressed in attire fit for hard walking, Legolas finally left his chamber and headed for the main hall where he was to meet the twins and his friends. As he passed the many passages that branched off from the corridor, he espied a couple in the far end of one.

Peering idly at them, he realized who they were. He stifled a chuckle as he observed the Elf-warrior, Daurin, plying Arwen’s nurse, a charmingly coquettish Almáriel, with freshly picked blossoms, honeyed words, and what looked to be a small basket of dainty cakes, no doubt courtesy of Iörwen’s skillful hands. So, he grinned, Glorfindel’s lieutenant was a-courting. He went on, leaving the two to their privacy.

A moment later, a small projectile on legs ran straight into him, nearly toppling him over. Grabbing at the recalcitrant sprite, he found himself with an armful of wriggling Elfling, the braids of her midnight tresses all undone, the pretty trim on her bodice consigned to near-oblivion and the hem of her gown sadly ripped where she had apparently trod on it.

“Let me go, ‘Las!” she cried, trying to escape his grasp.

“Arwen!”

The twins rushed up, shaking their heads in botherment. 

“We are sorry, _meldir_ ”—friend—Elladan said. “But Almáriel is missing and _Naneth_ asked us to keep an eye on this little hoyden for the moment.”

“I am not hurt,” Legolas assured him, handing him the said little hoyden. “And as for Almáriel, I believe she is busy at the moment with Daurin.” He indicated the general direction of the courting pair’s location with a jerk of his chin.

Elrohir clicked his tongue. “That is a flagrant dereliction of duty,” he remarked disapprovingly. “What if we were not available to take care of Arwen?” 

Legolas guffawed. “The dutiful brother of a sudden, Elrohir?” he teased. “You are not yourself!”

The Elf-knight mock-scowled then broke into a grin. “I am only jesting,” he said. “Let Almáriel have the time with Daurin. She deserves a respite from Arwen’s antics. Elbereth, Legolas, I wager she would best us in mischief were she a boy. ‘Tis not meet that a girl should be so unruly.”

“Am not unruly!” Arwen protested and stuck a delicate tongue out at the younger twin for good measure. 

“See what I mean?” Elrohir said pointedly.

At that moment, a flustered Almáriel came into view to retrieve her willful charge. As they walked away together, Elladan regarded his little sister with fond exasperation.

“‘Tis just as well _Adar_ and _Naneth_ are taking her with them to Lórien,” he commented. “Let her plague the Galadhrim for a spell.”

“And you have not done your share in upending all of Arda?” Legolas retorted with raised eyebrows.

“Aye, that we have and continue to do,” Elladan laughed. “But as my esteemed brother pointed out, ‘tis unseemly for a female to behave in such a manner. At least, that’s what Mother claims when she tries to rein her in!” 

Eventually, Heledir and Mithrael showed up and the young Elves headed outside. It was a glorious day and perfect for walking and the brethren had promised Heledir the chance to explore the high hills behind the Last Homely House.

**********************************************  
Glossary:  
Viressë-Yavannië - Quenya for April-September  
Peredhel – Half-elven/Half-elf  
Khazâd – the Dwarves name for their kindred  
Edain - men of the Three Houses of Elf-friends in the First Age

_To be continued…_


	2. Chapter 2

A few days later, Elrond and Celebrían departed for the Golden Wood, Arwen and her nurse, Almariel, in tow. It would be the little girl’s first visit to her mother’s parents and her first sojourn away from Rivendell as well. The twins were originally supposed to go on this long-scheduled trip but upon receipt of Legolas’ letter informing them that he could at long last come to Imladris, both had backed out of the journey at once.

Friendship notwithstanding, this did not sit well with Elrond’s household at all. For as sure as the sun rose each morn, they would likely bear the brunt of the twins’ machinations. Add a spirited woodland prince and that could only mean headaches at best and full bodily collapses at worst. Only Glorfindel did not seem overly concerned but, as Erestor grumbled, that was to be expected since the twins knew better than to test the deceptively mild-mannered captain’s patience or temper. 

The elder Elves’ dire predictions soon came to pass. Within days of their parents’ departure, the brethren and their noble guest engaged in a series of scrapes surely meant to hasten a reasonably sane Elf’s passage into the Halls of Waiting. One by one, Elrond’s hapless counsellors and retainers fell victim to his sons’ well-planned capers in which they were ably assisted by the Greenwood prince. 

Having been spared timorous Ailios’s embarrassingly noisy encounter with bristly spiders and horned beetles in his beddings, Erestor thought himself quite lucky. And when it was staid Gilrion who found himself with a lapful of quarrelling red-crested hens after he’d inadvertently dozed off while reading in the tranquil shade of one of the porches, the steward had reason to believe that perhaps the twins had finally decided to leave him alone. Until he became the butt of the age-old prank of a bucket of water perched atop his bedchamber door. 

It was all Glorfindel could do not to laugh out loud when he saw the dignified, always meticulously attired advisor storming through the hallways, trailing brackish pond water behind him and fuming that he would hang, draw and quarter the first of the miscreants he came upon. It took all of the fair-maned captain’s diplomacy to convince his colleague to forego that barbaric form of punishment. 

In the wake of Erestor’s inelegant dousing, Gildor Inglorion suddenly decided it was time for him to take another journey. Better to sleep and eat under the open skies and in all weathers than run the risk of being the princelings’ next victim, he reasoned with all the logic of one bent on escaping insult and injury to one’s dignity. 

Two days before his departure, a small company of Elves arrived in the valley. Legolas watched curiously as Gildor avidly welcomed them. He and Elrohir were perched upon the balustrade of one of the porches that faced the courtyard of the house languidly observing the comings and goings of the afternoon. It was one of the few times they were not engaged in an activity of a more energetic or purposeful nature. 

“Who are they?” he asked Elrohir.

“They are members of one of the wandering companies that roam the north,” the Elf-knight explained. “Gildor travels with them quite often for they once dwelt in Lindon where he has kin.”

“Lindon!” Legolas’s eyes lighted up with fascination. Lindon was but a name to him; as much the stuff of legend as the Golden Wood. To behold Elves of that realm was no little thing to him, so sheltered had he been in the fastness of his father’s kingdom in Eryn Galen. 

“And does the noble shipwright Círdan still ply his craft?” he asked.

Elrohir nodded. “Now more than ever. Many of our kindred are leaving these shores. Our time in Middle-earth is slowly but surely drawing to a close and we will all have to make the choice whether to sail West or remain in these mortal lands, to become a hidden people.” He suddenly turned pensive. “At least, others will have that choice. My siblings and I do not.”

Legolas wondered at his friend’s sadness. 

“What do you mean?” he softly prodded. 

Elrohir glanced at him. “What do you know of the choice of the Peredhil?”

The prince shrugged and duly recited: “‘Tis told in Eryn Galen that your father and his brother Elros were given the choice to be either of the _Edhil_ or the _Edain_. Lord Elrond chose to be of the Firstborn but Elros became as a mortal man and was thus appointed the first king of ancient Númenor.”

Elrohir nodded. “Elladan, Arwen and I must also make that choice,” he soberly explained. “But we must do so before Father departs these lands or forfeit our immortality.”

Legolas frowned. “That doesn’t sound too difficult,” he remarked. “Surely you would choose to be of Elvenkind. ‘Tis the only life you’ve known.”

Elrohir shook his head. “‘Tis not that simple. To claim our _Edhil_ heritage we must perforce take ship with Father when he leaves Middle-earth whether we are ready to forsake these shores or not. ‘Tis what the Valar decreed when first they gave our family the choice.”

Legolas stared at the Elf-knight. “That is – that is not – fair,” he protested. “Why should your destiny be ruled by another’s desire?”

Elrohir sighed. “Only the Valar can answer that question. Elladan and I try not to think on it as yet. After all, _Adar_ will abide here for many more years.”

“But your choice?” Legolas pressed. “You do not sound certain as to what it will be.”

“I am not,” Elrohir admitted. “Elladan seems inclined to cleave to Elf-kind but I do not know for certain what path I am meant to take. My father’s or my uncle’s.”

Legolas was astounded. “How can you choose to become mortal?” he gasped. “‘To willingly embrace the accursed Gift of Men? ‘Tis madness to seek their doom!”

“Nay, _ernilen_ —my prince—“not if one carries the blood of Men in one’s veins. I feel the Gift’s lure, Legolas; its siren call.”

“What call?” the archer asked bewilderedly.

“The call to freedom. To not be bound to the circles of the world. To be unencumbered by the ever growing weariness of living for centuries uncounted.” The twilight eyes were aglow with a strange fire. “Only the most profound of reasons could make our eternal lives worth living; would ensure never-ending bliss.” 

“And what reason could this be?” Legolas queried, awed by the fire in the darkling Elf’s silvery eyes.

“Love, Calenlass,” the Elf-knight quietly replied. 

The prince regarded his friend curiously.

“And think you that love will come your way?” he asked.

Elrohir sighed. “I hope so,” he murmured. “Else the shortness of men’s lives will prove the more tempting if I must exist in loneliness, alone, unloved.”

Legolas’s eyes widened at this alarming pronouncement. “Then I most sincerely pray you will get your wish, Elrohir,” he declared tightly. “I do not want to lose you or your friendship. Swear that you will not make this choice without letting me have my say,” he suddenly insisted with startling vehemence.

“Legolas—” 

“ _Swear!_ ”

It was Elrohir’s turn to stare at his friend. Legolas looked positively haunted. His sapphire eyes burned with unmistakable fear.

“Legolas!” Elrohir exclaimed. “I did not mean to upset you so deeply. Forgive me.” He clasped the prince’s suddenly chilled hands. “I swear, I will not make that decision without your counsel.” Seeing that the golden-haired Elf was still troubled he raised one hand and cupped the other’s chin reassuringly. “If it will console you, know this, the love of friends can be as potent as the love between spouses. You may very well be the one to hold me to our kindred for your friendship is something I treasure above all others.”

Legolas felt his dread fade away as the Elf-knight’s words washed soothingly and tenderly over him. With a tremulous smile, he gripped Elrohir’s hand tightly and turned his head to press his cheek into the cup of the Elf-knight’s warm palm.

“I will remind you of your oath as often as I must,” he solemnly stated. “I will hold you to our kindred as best as I can.” He took a deep calming breath. “I will not be parted from you by fate itself, Elrohir. _That_ , I swear.”

Elrohir stared at the prince with wonder. 

“You feel strongly about this,” he remarked. 

“I feel strongly about anything that concerns my closest friend.”

A sable eyebrow rose in surprise.

“ _I_ am your closest friend?” he inquired. “But what of Heledir and Mithrael? Of Elladan?”

Legolas fell silent for a moment. At length he said: “‘Tis difficult to explain. Heledir and Mithrael are the friends of my growing years; as such, they will always have a place in my heart. But you and Elladan I consider my very best friends despite the brevity of our acquaintance. Such is the pull both of you exert upon me. Yet you alone seem to know me better than anyone else, Elrohir, even better than I know myself. Seldom has anyone shown me such trust and concern as you do or doted on me without shame or regard for the opinion of others. In this you are closer to me than my own brothers, my old playmates and Elladan. In this, you are dearest to me of all my friends.”

Elrohir looked at him wordlessly for several heartbeats. “I am... deeply touched, Calenlass,” he whispered at last. 

“Then you understand why I cannot do without you,” the prince said quietly. “‘Twould be like losing a part of myself.”

The Elf-knight nodded somberly. “‘Tis an honor that you should feel thusly about me,” he murmured. “I will confess, I have never felt such profound affection for any not of my kin as I do for you, Legolas. I, too, cannot conceive of a life without your friendship.”

The golden Elf smiled happily at the other’s admission. Then the smile faded somewhat and he looked at Elrohir uncertainly. “Should Elladan find out about my sentiments, would – would he—?”

“Resent you?” Elrohir shook his head, beaming gently. “He would understand. Indeed, I think he already knows for he has many times remarked upon my swift and unwonted regard for you and your ungrudging return of it.”

The smile returned to the prince’s lips. “I am glad for I would not like to lose his esteem either. I am twice blessed in having met both of you. Few ever come to know the love of a true friend, let alone two of them.”

The darkling Elf beamed with pleasure then glanced over the prince’s shoulder to espy his brother approaching. Elladan had that peculiar gleam in his slate blue eyes that boded ill for whoever was on his mind.

“May I assume that you are planning something wicked, _gwaniuar_?”—older twin—the younger twin mildly inquired.

“Indeed you may,” Elladan grinned. “Tell me, _muindor_ , when was the last time you saw the interior of Iörwen’s bedchamber?”

Elrohir stared at him. “Iörwen? Valar, Elladan, that was a long time ago. We were but Elflings then. Why do you ask?”

The grin widened and the gleam brightened. “Do you not think it time we took pity on the counsellors?” he murmured with spurious compassion. “I would that we turned our attentions elsewhere for a change.”

Elrohir and Legolas looked at each other then grinned as well. 

“Aye, a change would be interesting,” Elrohir agreed. “What do you have in mind?”

“Come and I will show you what I have in mind.”

oOoOoOo

Rivendell’s golden-haired captain strode out of the house and scanned the garden in perplexity. He had been searching for Erestor for the better part of an hour to no avail. The only possible clue to the Elf’s whereabouts was a muted burgundy robe the chief steward had been seen to be wearing earlier in the day. Glorfindel had found it carelessly flung over the back of a chair near the doors leading outside.

Seeing no sign of Erestor, the Noldorin Elf decided a further exploration of the garden was in order. He walked on, following the grassy slope that led away from the river and towards the well-kept orchards beyond, looking to and fro for some sign, any sign, of the steward’s passage. Finally, he came to a stop below a thickly crowned oak of immense age. 

“Erestor!” Glorfindel shouted, wondering where the steward had taken himself. “Where in Arda can he be?” he muttered in frustration.

A sudden hiss caught his attention. It came from the thick foliage directly above him. The warrior Elf looked up and gaped in astonishment.

Perched amidst the branches was the wontedly impeccably attired and well-mannered steward clad only in a lightweight tunic, sturdy long breeches and light shoes. The better to climb a tree, Glorfindel mused, torn between amazement and hilarity.

“What are you doing up there?” he demanded.

“What does it look like, Glorfindel?” Erestor replied tersely. “I am trying to get some peace and quiet!” He glanced up and into the distance, stiffening at whatever he beheld. He looked down and sharply told the other Elf, “If you intend to prolong this conversation, get up here this instant!”

Glorfindel did not hesitate but jumped lightly to grab a branch. With practiced ease and agility, he swung himself onto a limb hardly wider than his own arm. He looked in the same direction that Erestor was intently staring at.

The twins and Legolas were sprinting at full speed down the slope, laughing uproariously. Bearing down on them with most unfeminine rage was Iörwen. The cook was brandishing a homegrown weapon, one of her heavy skillets. She looked more than intent on using it on the younger Elves. The reason for her vengeful attitude was all too apparent. 

She was drenched in the same pond water the twins had used to such spectacular effect on Erestor previously. Only they had embellished their earlier endeavor by adding dye to the water. Thus, the Elf-woman’s head and shoulders and a goodly portion of her torso were a disconcerting shade of bright orange. 

The two counsellors remained absolutely still and quiet as the lordlings dashed by beneath them followed closely by the infuriated Elven lady. Only when the voices of both perpetrators and victim had faded into the distance did they release their breaths, which they had not realized they were holding.

“I suppose we should be grateful that Legolas’s two friends do not often join in these activities,” Glorfindel commented shortly.

“‘Tis because Heledir and Mithrael are sensible, considerate Elves who know better than to plague their elders and court retribution!” Erestor scowled, his usual equanimity and haughty mien breaking down under duress of a most uncommon nature. “I will never agree to baby-sit this motley crew again!” he growled. “Elbereth, ‘tis at times like these that one wishes one were not immortal!”

“Take heart, _meldiren_ ”—my friend—Glorfindel consoled him. “They will sober quickly enough when Elrond and Celebrían return.”

“Would that Imladris will still be standing when they do!”

“Aye,” the captain agreed with a faint smile. “I have oft feared these past three months that our beloved refuge would pass into legend _way_ before its time.”

The intrinsic humor of the notion drew a gust of laughter from the normally grave steward. “Ai, you are fortunate that they fear you too much to play such pranks as they have foisted on the rest of the household,” he said.

“But not enough to keep them from tormenting me just the same,” Glorfindel replied. “I have had much to do trying to keep them from breaking their precious necks. I warrant Elrond will not be too pleased to be presented with less than live princelings upon his return. His rage should that come to pass would be far more dreadful than unbidden baths or creatures in our beddings.”

Erestor shook his head in exasperation. “And I thought Legolas would have a calming effect on the twins.” 

Glorfindel guffawed. “As much chance of that happening as an Orc devoting itself to a life of good works!” At Erestor’s resigned sigh, he added, “Thranduil said much the same thing to Elrond regarding the twins’ hoped-for effect on Legolas.”

Erestor gaped at the fair-haired captain, dignity forgotten for the moment. “He thought the twins would calm Legolas down?” he gasped. He rolled his eyes. “‘Tis most apparent he knew nothing about our resident terrors.” 

“He does now,” Glorfindel smirked. He turned serious once more. “The reason I sought you was to inform you that I am leading a patrol out tomorrow at first light. We should be back in a week’s time.”

Erestor nodded. “Good hunting then.”

Glorfindel rose to his feet on the branch. “Are you not coming down?” he asked when Erestor made no move to follow suit.

“Nay, I will stay here for as long as they are up and about.”

Glorfindel laughed. “You would spend the night up here?” 

“‘Tis safer up here than in my own chambers with those three planning their next prank.”

With a last chuckle, the warrior Elf nimbly dropped to the ground and sauntered away. There were certain advantages to being known as the Balrog slayer of Gondolin, he thought good-humoredly. At the very least, it spared him the worst of the twins and Legolas’s frightful schemes. What they did dare to play on him he had thus far been able to stomach with adequate grace. The Valar willing, they would continue to hold him in enough awe to stay their all too gamesome hands. 

His thoughts went to his less fortunate associate and he grinned. _Poor Erestor. Mayhap I should hide him in my quarters until Elrond and Celebrían get back!_

*******************************************  
Glossary:  
Edhil - Elves  
Edain – men of the Three Houses of Elf-friends in the First Age  
Calenlass - Greenleaf (Elrohir's pet name for Legolas)  
Peredhil - Half-elven/Half-elves  
muindor - brother

_To be continued…_


	3. Chapter 3

Glorfindel’s departure the following day at the break of dawn was regarded with dismay by the rest of the household. It wasn’t that they feared for him; a warrior who had fought in the wars of the First Age, slain a Balrog at the end of his first life and been sent back to Middle-earth by the Powers themselves in his second, was virtually unassailable by any creature of less power or stature than the noblest of the remaining High-elves in these Hither Lands. 

But Glorfindel was the one Elf aside from Elrond and Celebrían whom the twins dared not cross overmuch. His presence had a dampening effect on their ebullience and they were more restrained when they knew he was around. That they still indulged in an occasional prank or two was acceptable; at least, the lessening of such incidents gave their victims enough time to recuperate from the last or brace themselves for the next. 

Yet none sought to dissuade the Elda from his duty. Although the north now knew a measure of peace, everyone was well aware just how frail it was. The Dark Lord was overthrown but the evil creatures he had forced upon Middle-earth still roamed its plains, peaks and valleys. 

Orcs spawned without surcease in the depths of the Misty Mountains, issuing from their noisome holes every now and then to ambush unwary travelers and ravage whatever settlements and towns their malevolent wanderings put in their way. Trolls took their toll as well, mauling and slaying all and sundry who fell into their ungainly snares, leaving gnawed bones and cracked skulls as evidence of their grisly feasts. And everywhere, brigands and other men of ill repute plied their honorless trades, testament to the lingering extent of Sauron’s black influence.

Rivendell and the other elven realms of Lórien, Greenwood and Lindon were sometimes all that stood between their less ably defended neighbors and probable erasure from the maps of Middle-earth. As such, Glorfindel and his fellow Elven captains still led occasional sorties into the wild to curtail the threats to the security of their respective areas of responsibility. 

Unfortunately, the golden Noldo’s absence guaranteed that the security of his colleagues would be virtually nonexistent. Erestor began to consider a move to the Grey Havens in the wake of the captain’s leave-taking. Particularly after a chagrined Lindir appeared before him two days hence with a ranting merchant from the Bree-land demanding that someone explain how it was that the wine in his guest chamber had suddenly turned into honeyed vinegar and why the berries in the dish by his bedside had been dredged in sea salt. 

“Give me one good reason why I should not move my place of residence to Lindon,” Erestor caustically queried after he’d finally pacified the man and sent him on his way.

Lindir shrugged and said: “Because the twins would only think up something more dastardly and simply send it to you in Lindon.” At Erestor’s groan, the housemaster added sympathetically: “If it’s any consolation to you, the twins will probably leave you alone for a while until they’ve gone through everyone else first. That should give you some breathing space.”

“Small comfort, Lindir,” Erestor snorted. He contemplated the brown-haired Elf curiously. “I do not recall you complaining about anything to date. Are you so blessed as to have been spared thus far?”

Lindir shook his head ruefully. “If I have kept my silence, ‘tis only because of my wounded pride.”

“Elbereth, what did they do to you?”

“They stole my clothes while I swam in the river,” the minstrel wryly explained. “I had to sneak back into the house after dark in naught but my skin. Thank the Powers no one saw me apart from those imps!” 

Erestor stared at him aghast. “Remind me never to take another dip in the river again,” he said faintly. He let out an exasperated exhalation. “Glorfindel offered me the use of his chamber while he is gone. I am now seriously considering the offer. The _pin nith_ ”—young ones—“never enter it without his permission even when he is away. Would you care to join me?”

“For a whole week of fearless slumber?” Lindir nodded his head vigorously. “Aye, I most definitely do!” 

While Erestor and Lindir prepared themselves as if for a siege, the three Elves who had educed that state of mind in them chose to indulge in a harmless pastime for a change. With Mithrael and Heledir in tow, they headed for the river to cool off for it was a particularly hot summer day. While Elves were not as susceptible to the vagaries of climate or weather as mortals, even they could appreciate the refreshing effects of a bracing swim on a sweltering afternoon. The Loudwater’s clear, rushing waters were perfect for this purpose. 

The five quickly stripped and dove into the Bruinen’s depths. As graceful as the sleek seals that graced the seas off Middle-earth’s coasts, they cut smoothly through the sweeping current, untroubled by its chill or force. Then they were swimming hardily against it, heading for the cascades. But unlike the far northern salmon that struggled upriver to reach their spawning grounds, none was hindered by the powerful rush of water that sought to stay them. Such was the strength of their young bodies, fed by the power of their inner elven fire. Finally, they reached the majestic waterfall whose tumultuous roar could be heard all the way to the house. 

Grinning with elation, they clambered out onto the steep banks. As they flopped down on the springy grass to dry their bodies in the heat of the summer sun, Mithrael suddenly became conscious of their states of undress and volunteered to run back for their packs. A grinning Heledir agreed to accompany him. 

They were swift runners and soon returned, Mithrael already fully dressed in shirt and breeches. Chuckling at the scholar’s un-elvish modesty in the company of fellow males, the twins and Legolas followed Heledir’s example and donned their breeches to spare Mithrael more blushes. 

With a contented sigh, Legolas leaned back against the trunk of a willow tree. Nearby, Elladan lay on his back, his eyes closed, looking for all the world as if he were asleep. 

Elrohir grinned at the indolent figure his brother cut as he tossed their packs into a neat pile. He idly watched Mithrael and Heledir move towards the near perpendicular rock face beside the cascade. A moment later, he chuckled as the two began to make their way up, intent on reaching the high cliff above. He turned his attention to Legolas.

Something about the prince’s appearance stilled his aimless perusals. He regarded his lounging friend thoughtfully before reaching for his pack and rummaging in it until he found what he needed. He drew out a thick, loosely bound artist’s sketchbook and a length of tapered charcoal. Flipping the parchment sheets to a blank page, he set to work, his argent eyes flicking to the archer every now and then.

Stirring, Elladan opened his eyes and turned his head to speak to Legolas when he saw what his twin was about. The grey blue orbs gleamed with amusement and a knowing smile curled his lips. Legolas saw his expression and started to turn his head to see what the older twin was looking at. But Elladan grabbed his hand and shook his head.

“Do not move, _mellonen_ ”—my friend—he murmured.

Puzzled, Legolas did as he was bid but he managed a peek through the corner of his eyes. With a start, he realized Elrohir was sketching him and from the intent cast of his fair countenance, he was obviously serious about his task. Faint color stained the prince’s cheeks. No one had yet sought to commit his image to any form of art, whether drawn, sculpted or molded. He wondered that Elrohir thought him worthy of his skill or effort.

Finally, the younger twin finished his endeavor with a satisfied sigh. It was then that he noticed both his brother and the subject of his sketch looking at him curiously. This time, it was his turn to blush.

“May I see it?” Legolas asked shyly.

Elrohir hesitated then rose and sauntered over to them. He handed the book to his friend. Elladan scrambled to sit beside the prince that he might see his twin’s handiwork as well. His eyes softened at first sight of the image on parchment.

It showed Legolas as he had been earlier, lounging languorously against the tree, one leg bent, the other stretched out lazily, an arm resting easily on the bent limb. His fair hair clung wetly to his neck and shoulders in molten tendrils calling attention to the lean lines and well-defined muscles of his upper torso. 

Elrohir had captured not only Legolas’ countenance and form but his character as well. The Greenwood prince was beauty and grace personified when seen through the eyes of the younger twin. But Elrohir had also somehow managed to convey the banked fires behind the languid pose; had revealed the wild spirit behind the serene front.

Legolas raised his azure eyes from the sketch to lock gazes with the Elf-knight.

“I am not—” he started to say in a hushed voice. “You think too highly of me to render me so...so...” 

“Beautiful?” Elrohir said seriously. “But you are, _malthernil_.”—golden prince. “How can you think otherwise?”

Legolas colored anew at the praiseful epithet and dropped his eyes to the sketch once more while at his side, Elladan darted a sharp glance at his brother. But Elrohir simply looked back at him with a questioning gaze.

Legolas drew a deep breath then looked up at Elrohir. His eyes were now warm and glowing.

“I am ever so grateful for your regard, Elrohir,” he softly declared. “‘Tis soothing to my spirit and a boost to my esteem as well that you should find me comely.”

Something in the way he uttered these last words caught Elladan’s notice. He studied Legolas incredulously.

“Why, Legolas?” he queried. “Have the woodland folk not sung your praises? Surely many have told you of your beauty in the green wood.”

The prince shrugged. “Aye, many have told me,” he agreed. “But I cannot wholly trust their intent. The men flatter me in the hopes of gaining influence over my father through me. And as for the women...some see a tumble with a king’s son as a conquest worth flaunting while others seek a consort’s crown. They sing my praises but the praise comes at a price I am not willing to pay.”

He turned his gaze upon Elrohir once more, the blued pools of his eyes incandescent with gratitude and affection, the beginnings of a radiant smile slowly lighting up his features.

“However, such praise from the friends of my heart strike to the very core. I know it to be true. I do not know if I deserve it but it fills me with great pleasure and joy that you should regard me so highly, Elrohir.”

The Elf-knight had sobered as he listened to his friend’s exposition of the less commendable side of Eryn Galen’s politicking. But at Legolas’ patent happiness, he now returned the smile. 

“I will keep this sketch always,” he quietly stated, tracing gentle fingers over the charcoal image. “In remembrance of this day’s revelation.” 

Elladan looked at Elrohir speculatively. His twin had discerned that Legolas would not only appreciate his sincere compliment but would be hungry for it as well. An instant later, he recognized the true nature of their seemingly sudden intimacy. He, too, smiled then, approving and relieved for his brother’s sake. 

Too often had Elrohir foregone close friendships with Elves of their age out of caution and mistrust. Indeed, in the valley itself, few counted themselves amongst those the Elf-knight would willingly lay down his life for and they were to be found solely amongst the older Elves. Glorfindel, Erestor, Lindir, Iörwen and Almáriel had long earned Elrohir’s love and loyalty. But the Elves nearer or of their own years, even amongst the warriors with whom they regularly trained, had not elicited that same devotion from the younger twin.

Now here was one who had finally tapped the vast reservoir of love Elrohir possessed who was near his equal in age and stature. The fact that it was a stranger to the vale, an Elf of another realm that had done so was amazing but posed no problems to the more welcoming residents of Rivendell. And it was of no matter to Elladan that their peculiar closeness was exclusive to them. So long as Elrohir had found that elusive heart-felt comradeship he’d long sought, Elladan was gratified and well pleased. 

He allowed his feelings to surge along the intangible bond they shared in their close twinship and was rewarded by the sparkle in the brief look his brother cast him.

“ _Hannon le_ , Legolas”—Thank you—he impulsively said. 

The Elf-prince looked at him in surprise. “For what?"

“Exactly,” Elladan grinned. “For being our friend. You bring the sun’s radiance with you wherever you go and we are blessed to bask in it.” _Especially you, tôren_ —my brother—he added silently to his twin through their unseen connection. 

Legolas turned an even deeper shade of red than before. “Really, you two will spoil me,” he murmured. But there was no denying his deep pleasure at their tender attention. 

The magic of the moment was broken with the return of Mithrael and Heledir. But not the bond now firmly forged between the woodland prince and the younger twin, the warmth and affection of which was so great as to encompass the older one as well. 

_To be continued…_


	4. Chapter 4

A week later, Glorfindel and the border patrol returned and with the Elda’s arrival came a measure of peace and quiet. At least, peace and quiet relative to the usual tumult that oft followed in the twins and Legolas’s wake. Taking pity on his colleagues, Glorfindel set out to make his presence more strongly felt than he’d previously done. 

Restrained by the golden captain’s watchful presence, the young Elves turned to other activities in which to expend their bottomless energies. Thus, one day’s passage found them in the thickly forested hills to the east of the house, putting their tracking skills to the test. 

Legolas grumbled as he sought for signs of Elladan’s passage. The twins were good trackers but even better at eluding those who tracked them. It mortified him that he, a forest savvy Wood-elf, was having such a difficult time picking up the older twin’s trail. He wondered how Heledir and Mithrael were doing in their pursuit of Elrohir. Just then he heard a muffled sound. 

Grinning, he did not stop to consider that Elladan would never make so much noise as to give away his location. The prince silently crept through the brush towards the direction of the sound. He reached out and parted the thick shrubbery before him.

A small clearing, veiled by hanging vines and thick brush, was revealed to him. Yet it was not the clearing that snagged his attention but what was occurring in it. 

Upon a dark cloak were two Elves, their naked bodies unmistakably locked in utmost intimacy. Legolas’ first reaction was embarrassment at having inadvertently intruded on such a private moment. His next reaction was considerably less calm. Both Elves were dark-haired, comely and – Legolas suddenly realized with patent shock – undeniably, unrelentingly _male_. 

Legolas first dazed thought was, _So that’s how it’s done_. He was not aware of any relationships in the Greenwood concerning Elves of the same kind, much less knew just how coupling was achieved between them. His second more lucid thought was, _I know them!_ The two Elves were Daurin and Enedrion. But how can this be? Legolas wondered distractedly. Daurin is courting Almáriel. His third now fully coherent thought was, _I have to get out of here!_

He propelled himself so hastily out of the bushes that he failed to see where he was going and ended up colliding with Elladan who had sneaked around to catch the prince by surprise. The older twin gasped as he was felled by an armful of panicking flaxen-haired Elf.

“What are you doing, Leg—?!” he yelped only to have a frantic hand clapped gracelessly over the lower half of his face, momentarily cutting off both his sentence and his air supply.

“Sshh, come away at once, Elladan,” Legolas hissed, pulling the twin to his feet and forcibly leading him away.

When they were a decent distance away from the clearing, Legolas came to a halt. Elladan peered at him wonderingly, noting his reddened complexion. 

“What is wrong?” he queried with concern.

“I-I saw Daurin and Enedrion together,” Legolas stuttered. “In that-that clearing yonder.”

Elladan blinked uncomprehendingly. “So?” he prodded.

Legolas swallowed hard. “I mean, _together_ – as in intimately,” he clarified. 

Elladan stared at him then unexpectedly grinned. “Oh,” he chuckled. “No wonder you were embarrassed! Really, those two ought to be more discreet.”

“Discreet?” Legolas echoed. “Is that all you have to say?” At Elladan’s blank response, he blurted out, “Elladan! They are both male!”

Enlightenment finally descended upon Elladan but it was not the kind Legolas had expected. The raven-haired Elf shook his head and remarked musingly, “Ai, you are not used to this. I had forgotten that ‘tis not allowed in Eryn Galen.”

Legolas stared at him. “You mean you are not shocked?” he gasped. 

Elladan hesitated then decided to be open with the prince. It would be ridiculous to try and skirt the issue when Legolas had already been introduced to it and in such a precipitous manner yet. He shrugged and said: “Nay, why should I be? Really, Legolas, surely you know that even amongst your warriors, ‘tis permitted to help a comrade find release when they are far from the comforts of home.”

The prince gulped at the other Elf’s straightforward manner. “I am well aware of that, Elladan. But ‘tis only done in extreme need and all they do is-is—” he could not continue his sentence in his discomfiture.

“Fondle each other in the dark,” Elladan finished for him making the archer flush an even brighter crimson. “Nonetheless, ‘tis still a way of pleasuring a fellow male.” 

“But they weren’t just touching! Enedrion was – I mean, Daurin – that is, they should not—“

“Do calm down, _cunneth_ ”—princeling—Elladan said smoothly. “‘Tis most unbecoming of Thranduil’s son to be so pitifully inarticulate.”

Legolas drew a deep breath then blew it out. “How can Daurin do this?” he demanded. “He is courting Almáriel, is he not?”

Elladan nodded with maddening, to the prince, equanimity. “He is having some difficulty making up his mind whom to choose,” he explained. “Not that I blame him. Almáriel and Enedrion are equally attractive.”

“But Enedrion is male!”

“Of course, Enedrion is male,” a voice interrupted. “I thought that was established at his birth.” Elrohir emerged from the cover of trees trailed by Heledir and Mithrael. From the expressions on his friends’ faces, Legolas guessed they hadn’t had any more luck tracking Elrohir than he had Elladan. “Why are you discussing Enedrion’s gender?” the younger twin asked. 

Elladan smiled faintly. “Not his gender, brother, but his ‘activities’. Legolas just saw him and Daurin – _together_.” 

Elrohir frowned, obviously cognizant of his brother’s meaning. “Daurin should make his choice soon. He cannot straddle the fence forever. He will end up hurting one or the other.”

“Aye, I suspect Enedrion’s feelings run deeper than he lets on,” Elladan agreed.

Heledir looked as much at sea as Legolas had earlier but, to Elladan’s relief, Mithrael nodded in comprehension. Finally, a Greenwood Elf who actually knew something about the world beyond the constricting borders of his forest!

“But why this interest in Enedrion’s affairs?” Elrohir asked, puzzled.

Elladan glanced at Legolas. “Our _ernil daur_ ”—forest prince—“cannot conceive of such close intimacy between two Elves of the same kind,” he explained.

Elrohir's only reaction was a simple, “Oh.” The look he exchanged with his brother was one of mingled amusement and slight alarm. Like Elladan, he, too, had forgotten about the proscription on such pairings amongst the Silvan Elves of Greenwood. 

“How can I?” Legolas said defensively. “‘Tis not a thing done in Eryn Galen!”

“Oh, yes, it is,” Mithrael said unexpectedly. “‘Tis just that those who feel differently keep themselves hidden for fear of censure or reprisal.”

Legolas and Heledir stared at their fellow Wood-elf in surprise. “How do you know that?” Heledir challenged.

Mithrael rolled his eyes. “I can see, can’t I?” he pointed out. “Just because I bury my nose in books, as you so often tease me, does not mean I’m blind. Which is more than I can say for some Wood-elves I know!”

As the twins chortled at the well-placed jibe, Legolas and Heledir both turned a nice shade of red. Heledir managed a weak grin but Legolas was patently abashed. He had always prided himself on taking an interest in a variety of subjects. That he should be considered ignorant about this matter did not sit well with him even if the matter was disquieting to say the least.

“Then – then, you do not consider their behavior – unnatural?” he ventured uneasily.

Seeing that Elladan had already taken the same course, Elrohir decided to be honest with his friend as well even if it caused him unease. “What I find unnatural is Almáriel’s lack of jealousy,” he said seriously. “She does not seem troubled that Daurin should be on such intimate terms with Enedrion and withholds what her rival gives so freely.”

Elladan suggested: “Mayhap she thinks to whet Daurin’s appetite enough to force him into finally making a choice in her favor. After all, what is forbidden is oft thought the sweetest and therefore the more desirable.”

“Mayhap. But enough talk about this dubious triangle. ‘Tis time we went back lest Glorfindel suspect us of planning the worst.” 

But Legolas held back, frowning in confusion. “I do not understand,” he said. “Are you saying that bindings between Elves of the same kind are permitted here?”

The brethren took a moment to silently seek each other’s counsel before Elladan nodded. “And in Lórien and Lindon, aye,” he confirmed.

Taken aback at first, the prince paused to calm his jumbled thoughts and feelings. He exhaled slowly. “It seems I have been kept in the dark about a few things,” he murmured.

“You are not alone,” Heledir muttered, his cheeks still a little rosy. 

Elrohir thoughtfully regarded his friend who seemed embarrassed by his ignorance and at the same time disconcerted by the topic of their conversation. “Such passions are prohibited in Eryn Galen. ‘Tis natural that you would not readily know about them, _mellonen_ ”—my friend—he said kindly. “Do not feel shamed by this.” 

Legolas nodded slowly. “But Mithrael is right,” he conceded. “I have been blind. I must open my eyes if I am to learn all that I can.” 

Elrohir smiled and linked his arm with the prince's. “Then you have already learned a most valuable lesson,” he reasoned. “This experience, however shocking it may have been for you, has not been in vain.”

Legolas had to grin at the younger twin’s observation. “Aye, it has not.”

Doing his best to put the disturbing incident behind him, the Elf-prince set his mind to enjoying what remained of the day with his friends.

oOoOoOo

That evening, the twins sought Glorfindel and Erestor’s advice. Other young Elves might feel so much trepidation at making such an admission as to not be able to do it at all but neither twin was known to run from the truth no matter how discomfiting or shy from criticism regardless of its harshness. As such, they recounted the events that had led to Legolas’s unexpected though still limited enlightenment, leaving nothing out even to their own responses.

“We know Thranduil did not want Legolas to find out so soon about this matter,” Elladan concluded. “But we could hardly deny what he had seen with his own eyes.”

Elrohir added: “And we did not think it fair or wise to mislead him into thinking ‘twas an unnatural act amongst our kindred.”

Glorfindel nodded. “You did right in making it clear that ‘tis accepted in all the elven realms save Greenwood,” he agreed. “But ‘twas also prudent of you not to elucidate the matter any further. ‘Twould be best if Legolas learned about this gradually.” He glanced at Erestor, mutely seeking the other Elf’s opinion.

The auburn-haired steward sighed resignedly. “‘Tis sooner than Thranduil would have liked but, as you said, Legolas had to be told something of the old tradition,” he murmured. “I only hope his next lesson does not come as precipitately as this one did. He will need time to come to terms with this newfound knowledge. I would that he be granted it ere he must learn more of our kindred’s ancient ways.”

“We will not speak any further of it if we can help it,” Elrohir assured them. 

“But neither can we hold our tongues should he ask us directly for more information,” Elladan pointed out. “‘Tis his right and duty to know all there is to be known about the history of our peoples.”

“Agreed,” Glorfindel said. “Let us only hope that when that time should come, the young prince will be ready for the full revelation of it.” He looked keenly at the twins. “I trust that should the task fall to you that you will educate him to the best of your abilities?”

“Of course, Glorfindel,” Elrohir replied softly. “We only want what is best for him.”

When they had gone the two counsellors shared a rueful gaze. 

“I suppose it was too much to ask that nothing of great import would occur during the prince’s visit,” Erestor wryly remarked.

“Definitely too much to ask,” Glorfindel conceded with a faint smile. “Particularly since he keeps such constant company with the twins.” 

_To be continued…_


	5. Chapter 5

All too soon, or so it seemed to the woodland prince, summer passed into autumn. Elrond and Celebrían finally came home to the relief of their now thoroughly harassed household. 

A radiant Arwen, obviously exhilarated by her first journey out of the valley, launched herself into her brothers’ arms as soon as she was set down from Elrond’s lap.

“‘Adan! ‘Rohir! Did you miss me?” she cried, hugging each fiercely in turn.

“Of course, we missed you, _thel neth_ ”—young sister—Elrohir murmured against her fragrant tresses. “And you? Did you miss us?”

She pouted a little petulantly at them. “You should have come to Lórien,” she said. “It would have been more fun.”

“You know why we stayed behind, _pen vell_ ”—dear one—Elladan said, taking her into his arms. 

“We could have taken ‘Las with us,” she pointed out with innocent sagacity. “He would have enjoyed it.”

Legolas chuckled. “I’m sure I would have,” he agreed. “Mayhap next time.”

Arwen giggled then wriggled out of the older twin’s arms. Dashing back to Celebrían she soon returned with a quiver full of arrows and a Lórien bow fashioned just for her size and age. The three lordlings chuckled appreciatively. The attention to detail was amazing considering the smallness of the articles. 

“Grandfather and Grandmother gave it to me!” she announced. “I practiced with them every day.”

“Then you must be a fearsome archer by now,” Elladan grinned. 

Arwen took him at his word. “Oh, yea, the very best,” she said, nodding enthusiastically. It was all the three could do to stifle their laughter. 

“You must show us your skill before Legolas returns home,” Elrohir told her.

Arwen stared frowningly at the prince. “You are going?” she scowled. 

“I have been here far longer than expected,” Legolas said. “‘Tis time for me to return to Eryn Galen.”

Arwen pursed her dainty lips. “But you must wait until ‘Adan and ‘Rohir’s begetting day,” she suggested suddenly. 

The twins started at her words. “By Elbereth, I hadn’t thought of that,” Elrohir commented. He glanced at Legolas. “She’s right, Calenlass, you must stay for that. ‘Tis only a few days more after all.”

Legolas beamed, glad of an excuse to extend his visit even for a few more days. “It will be my pleasure,” he replied. 

With the Lord and Lady of Rivendell back, peace reigned once more though admittedly in fits and starts. Even their parents’ presence could not repress the irrepressible twins for any decent length of time. But something else served to dampen the young Elves’ usual exuberance. They remained all too conscious of the swift passage of time and the separation it heralded.

oOoOoOo

The twins chose to celebrate their shared begetting day with a picnic by the cascades. It was a merry occasion and one marked by the renewal of closeness amongst family and friends as the brethren had intended. Mellowed by good food and an abundance of wine, even the various victims of their antics found the wherewithal to forgive though probably not forget.

Legolas grinned as Arwen squirmed impatiently on Elladan’s lap. 

Brother and sister sat by the riverbank, Elladan leaning slightly against a large boulder. A little to their right, Glorfindel sparred with Heledir, showing him a few tricks picked up during his days in ancient Gondolin. Beyond them, Mithrael kept company with Lindir as they raptly watched Elrond and Erestor engage in a masterful game of Strategy. Higher up the bank, a safe distance away from the water, beneath the same spreading willow Legolas had lounged under several days earlier, Iörwen and Almáriel watched over the still considerable remains of the bountiful meal the former had spread out earlier. Every so often, they would dispense refreshments to any who needed added sustenance. 

“Do be still, Arwen,” the older twin reproved. “You only make it more difficult for Elrohir to finish soonest.”

Elrohir chuckled even as he continued to sketch his siblings. “If you do not stop moving so much, I will make you look like a little Orc, _thel neth_ ,” he teased. 

Arwen’s eyes widened indignantly. “You wouldn’t,” she declared. Then less certainly, she looked up at Elladan and said: “Would he?” 

Elladan snickered. “You know very well how capable he is of doing _anything_ ,” he pointed out. “So if you do not wish to come out looking like one of those foul creatures, you had best behave.”

Arwen pouted but settled down into relative stillness. Mercifully, at least in her opinion, Elrohir soon finished his work and handed it to a smiling Celebrían.

“‘Tis very well done, _gwanneth_ ”—younger twin—she said with maternal pride. “You could very well be a fine artist if only you practiced more diligently.”

Elrohir shook his head with a scapegrace grin. “I fear an artist’s life would not suit me, _Nana_ ”—Mama—he replied. “‘Twould be much too tame for my taste.”

Celebrían laughed softly and stroked his cheek with her knuckles. “Ah, _rochen neth_ ”—my colt—she murmured. “Do not forget that the hand that wields a sword can also create things of great beauty.” She glanced tenderly in her husband’s direction. “Witness your father’s many talents.”

Elrohir blushed. “I did not mean to belittle artists or the lives they lead,” he earnestly said. “I only meant that I cannot sit still long enough to create anything more exacting or requiring more of my time than a simple sketch.”

Elladan guffawed. “That is an understatement,” he commented. 

Legolas smiled but did not laugh. Instead, he sighed, besieged by mixed feelings. The twins’ begetting day had arrived all too soon and was now passing too quickly for his liking. Whether he wished it or not, he was perforce compelled to turn his thoughts to the journey back to Greenwood. 

“Why, Legolas, what troubles you?” Celebrían softly inquired.

The prince flushed; embarrassed she should have noticed his gloom. “‘Tis only that I must return home and I...” He bit his lip and glanced at the twins. Both were regarding him with understanding and empathy.

“You do not wish to go just yet,” Celebrían gently finished for him. 

The prince nodded. “‘Tis not that I do not love Eryn Galen,” he hastily clarified. “But Imladris is more beautiful and wondrous than I ever imagined or expected. I have enjoyed myself so much that I am loath to leave these all behind.”

Celebrían smiled. “Is it Imladris that so enthralls you or its sons?” she suggested. “Because if 'tis the latter, then any place in Arda will be as wondrous so long as you are in their company.”

Legolas stared at her, startled at the thought. At length, he drew a deep breath and said: “You are right, my lady. ‘Tis the friendship I have found with your sons that tempts me to stay.”

“Then take with you as many memories as you can gather, prince of Greenwood,” the lady said. “They will bring comfort to you until such time when you can all be together again. And knowing these sons of mine, it will be sooner than late I dare say,” she ended on an amused note. 

Her words brought a measure of comfort to the forest prince at least for a while. But his spirits drooped once more and continued to do so as his day of departure loomed ever closer. On the eve of his leave-taking, he was hard-pressed to put on a smiling countenance, so reluctant was he to end his stay in the vale. 

It was a pensive young prince who came out to the courtyard the following morning where his friends and warriors awaited him. Elrohir took one look at his far from happy countenance and slipped his fingers under the archer’s lowered chin to make him look up and meet his eyes.

“Cheer up, Calenlass,” he soothed. “We will not be parted overlong. As soon as can be, we will go to you.”

“But how many years must pass before that happens?” Legolas asked woefully. “You cannot spend every summer in Eryn Galen nor can I come here as oft as I would.”

Elladan smiled. “The years pass swiftly for our kind, as you very well know, _ernil daur_.”—forest prince. “And as for awaiting several summers, we may visit you next spring instead.”

The azure eyes lighted up. “Truly?” he queried hopefully. “Can Lord Elrond spare you so soon?”

“Aye, he can,” Elrohir affirmed. “We asked him this as soon as he and Mother arrived. He knows how much we cherish you, Legolas.”

The prince beamed with pleasure at this heartfelt admission of affection. “Then I shall look forward to this winter’s end and hope to see you riding down the path to my father’s halls come next year’s spring.”

As always, he hugged each of the twins, then mounted his steed. With a last wave to the brethren, he led his people from the courtyard and onto the track out of the valley. Elladan and Elrohir remained where they were, watching their friend until the entire party disappeared from sight. Both sighed and turned to enter the house. Only to yelp in unison when a bucketful of icy water was suddenly unloaded on them, leaving them stunned and drenched. A peal of piping laughter pierced the quiet and a small figure darted back into the house. 

“ _Arwen!_ ”

On that growling duet, Elrond’s sons raced after their only sister. Watching from a safe distance, Erestor nodded his head approvingly at his companion.

“You were right, Glorfindel. ‘Tis amazing what an Elfling will do when pointed in the right direction.” 

_End of Part II._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Part III: Tender Musings - Is there a limit to how deeply one may feel about a friend?_

**Author's Note:**

> Regarding Arwen's age: at nine years she would actually be, in human terms, about four-years-old if one goes by the premise that an Elf reaches his or her majority at 50 years of age. As for the games mentioned in the story, you might consider them the elvish equivalents of Chess, Monopoly and Poker.


End file.
